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T.M Opera O hadn’t been looked upon by anyone as much as he had been by Agnes Digital. His awareness of this fact was irrelevant, a perfect masterpiece on display, ideally unconcerned with the amount of eyes on him. Digital chose, from the safety of the shadows, to observe and take note of every secret training session she caught Opera practicing long after lights out on the track – almost a secret performance prepared only for her.
Tonight, the sky is clear, a half moon and all her stars shining down upon the intoxicatingly gorgeous visage of T.M Opera O. From the shadows of the stands that overlook the track, Digital observes the Overlord run lap after lap, transfixed. Her eyes burn with exhaustion yet she can barely allow herself to blink. Not a single moment must go unseen, unappreciated, Digital thinks; such oversights she would never forgive herself. Not the gallant strides of Opera’s legs, nor the elegant orange trail that is his tail, the way his golden hair glows silver in the moonlight. Involuntarily, as if pulled by gravity, she takes a step forward.
Each lap takes a slight but noticeable toll on the Overlord’s pace, Digital notes. She tries her best to inscribe the image in her mind – Opera O, exhausted, hungry for more, each step heavier yet stubborn. If she were just a little closer, she’s sure she would see the glint of desperation in Opera’s violet eyes.
She takes another step forward, this time thought out and cautious, an attempt to fly as close to the sun as she could without burning. Opera rounds the last corner, slowing down to a stop directly within Digital’s line of sight.
He’s gorgeous. Sweat drips from his forehead to his chin and onto the turf, and Digital sighs longingly. Opera bends forward to support himself on his knees, panting, gasping for breath, ears pinned back against his head at what must be the pain that accompanies fatigue. Digital is now close enough to notice Opera’s legs shaking, knees wobbly and fragile. She shivers.
Digital is so transfixed, so hypnotized by the sight, she fails to notice Opera’s eyes fixed straight on her. By the time she notices, a half smile has crept on the side of the Overlord’s face.
Digital is frozen in place – a deer in headlights. Her heart drops to her feet, her blood turns to ice, her limbs don’t obey her commands to book it out of there. The next thing she becomes aware of is Opera walking toward her, ducking under the rails of the track and staring her down with those violet eyes that Digital had yearned to watch up close for so long.
Opera says something to her, something she doesn’t quite parse, about fans and admiration and a show for one. His eyes are only half open, his eyebrows high on his forehead, not a trace of anger or resentment on that perfect face of his – he's remarkably hard to read for someone so expressive. Digital’s mind spins. Is this real life? Some sort of hallucination? She can’t tell. The only thing that breaks her out of her terrified trance is Opera’s gentle hand landing on her shoulder. Suddenly the world snaps back into place.
“I’m truly blessed by your adoration, Digital,” His voice is low, honey sweet. “I’d be deceiving you by saying I don’t know what you so faithfully seek.”
Digital nearly melts. “You do…?” Her words come out raspy and unrehearsed. She’s let go of all reason, committing to drink in this moment whether it be real or illusion. “Opera O…”
Opera takes her hand in his, and guides her back toward the shadow of the stands as he speaks: “I’ve taken notice of your presence here many times before. I’d be honored to reward someone as diligent in their admiration as yourself.” Sparks fly from where Opera holds her hand to the rest of Digital’s body as the Overlord gracefully sets himself down on the grass, back resting on the concrete wall, legs just slightly parting. He takes Digital along with him, eyes never leaving his, as she kneels in front of Opera.
Digital’s body casts a shadow onto his, uncharacteristic for the Overlord. His chest still heaves, exhausted, yet he looks at Digital expectantly, like he’s waiting for her to recite her lines. His hand rises from Digital’s shoulder to the side of her face, Digital nearly faints. Opera’s legs part further to let Digitan between them. Digital can’t help but notice he’s still shaking.
“Go on,” He presents himself to Digital, who stares in excitement, mouth watering at the masterwork bestowed upon her. “Indulge.”
Digital, wordlessly, ravenously, drops down between Opera’s parted legs. She fumbles to pull off his training shorts, handles his panties with utmost care. His thighs glisten with the sweat of his exertion, and his smell makes Digital shiver. She wonders, for a fraction of a second, if this is at all okay. She made a vow to never cross this kind of line with her precious idols, but she isn’t so sure she can perfectly uphold that vow in this position. T.M Opera O is surrendering himself to her, a lowly worm, in what is very clearly a wish to be seen in this way. If he saw Digital fit to fulfill this request, how could she ever refuse?
Her hands travel from his knees to his thighs, aching to feel the powerful muscles within. Opera’s skin is smooth, perfect, Digital’s hands collect his sweat as she goes. She can’t take her eyes off of him – she’s sure it’ll be hard to look at anything else for a long time. As her hands approach his inner thighs, Opera flinches, then lets out a weak laugh. He sounds – nervous? Drool drips from Digital’s mouth. She doesn’t think her breath has ever raced this quick before.
“Yes… yes! Moon-drunk monster, show me your hunger!” Opera’s voice is boisterous and sure as always, but there’s something raw and desperate underneath. Something Digital desperately wants to get to. Opera’s breath hitches as Digital’s hand makes contact with the warmth of his core. “Ah, go on, please – I insist. Bring me back to life… Digital.”
He’s clearly enjoying this. Digital knows he loves the spotlight, but this is different. She’s never seen him so up close, so vulnerable, never seen him so eager. He wants all the attention he can pull out of a single person without doing anything grand.
Digital’s fingers explore Opera’s opening, feeling his wetness without entering him fully. Opera’s legs try to close in on her as Digital grazes his clit with a slick fingertip. Opera grits his teeth, his shoulders tense up. Digital can’t help but wonder how used to this he must be. Her fingers part his opening, and she’s sure this must be some sort of hallucination. He’s perfect, too beautiful, pulsating with anticipation. Opera’s chest heaves. He breathes in as if to say something but only a pitiful, imploring sound comes out.
Digital lunges at Opera, she doesn’t warn or ease him into it as her mouth presses against him fully. She’s too excited. Opera wails, a song in Digital’s trembling ears, and she can feel a hand weakly landing on the back of her head amidst the deliciously sweet overflowing of her senses. Opera’s hand attempts pressure that Digital doesn’t need. Even here, he wants to feel like he’s in control. Digital’s tongue explores the soft, slick tissue around his opening, scrambles to memorize his folds in her memory. She savors every lick like the moment could disappear in an instant. She pulls her head back for a heartbeat to catch her breath, yet Opera still begs her to continue.
His back arches forward, pressing Digital’s face closer, sweat dripping from his chin to the top of Digital’s head. His hips thrust forward involuntarily, essentially grinding on Digital’s mouth, desperation takes over. He tastes delicious – almost sweet, Digital thinks, delicate and soft like the most sophisticated of pastries. She shifts her focus to suck on Opera’s clit, the Overlord’s cries of desperation further pushing her to drink in his pleasure. His legs are trembling, thighs tense and hard, enveloping Digital in his intoxicating smell. Her vision starts to blur.
“Digital…” Opera’s voice is uncharacteristically out of tune as he calls out her name, words not fully forming but the intent being clear in its desire. Off-script. “Drink of me…” He begs. Digital does as she is told. Her jaw aches from the strain but she can’t get herself to stop, or even slow down. He’s too perfect. He’s too beautiful. Opera deserves every inch of worship Digital can provide, she thinks. Her hands grab hold of Opera’s legs to keep him steady, keep him wide open, shivers running down those powerful muscles like ripples on a pond. Drool is dripping from where Opera’s core and Digital’s mouth meet and soaking the grass they’re on, Digital’s rushed breath is hot and humid against him. She can’t stop – she doesn’t want to stop. Each of Opera’s cries gets louder, more desperate, his chest heaves, whole body swaying. He’s close, and Digital wants to know how far she can take him.
“Worship me… Ahh, Digital,” His requests are more breath than voice now. His breath comes ragged, his beautiful body struggling to maintain the rhythm. “Worship me, worship me, worship me, worship me, worship me,” He slurs out the words, mingling them together, demanding and desperate. He repeats the order two, five, ten, so many times that Digital can’t possibly keep count. Her tail is practically standing all the way up in the air, her ears ache from being so intently angled toward Opera’s voice.
Digital isn’t sure wether Opera’s repeating the words still or if her head is replaying them until she provides. He pushes her further in, Digital holds her breath and focuses on delivering for the Overlord. Opera tenses further, Digital’s head spins.
His orgasm comes explosive, loud and delicious. The finest of wines, honoring Agnes Digital with its taste. He twitches, cries, struggles for a single breath. Digital doesn’t pull away. Her face is drenched and she wants every last drop she can get to. Opera is addicting. She doesn’t want him to stop.
Regardless, Opera’s orgasm eventually ebbs, high tide recedes, and Digital is allowed a gasp for breath as the Overlord’s trembling hands directs Digital’s face to meet him at his level. Her mouth is soaked, still licking her lips. Opera wipes the corner of her mouth. He’s sweating, eyes only half open, ears pinned back against his head. At some point, his crown fell to the grass and now lays abandoned near the panties that Digital handled with such careful hands.
Opera’s violet eyes look straight into Digital’s, and she can see in them everything she needs to know. She’s closer than she ever thought she could be – it’s terrifying and she can’t stop. She still doesn’t know if she’s worth it. She knows she did a good job, though. Her body is basically vibrating, all senses focused on the subject of her fantasies.
“There you are…” Opera’s voice is barely higher than a whisper. He sighs, Digital tries her best to catch his breath in her own mouth. “You’re fine audience, you know… Something always told me you’d be worthy of this.”
Digital nearly faints. There’s so much she would say were she even an inch weaker. She felt no need to overwhelm Opera with words of admiration. If he told her she’d done a good job, she would believe him, and she would provide for him each time he asked like it was the first time again.